Fairy Queen
by Kokura
Summary: Oberon, known to close friends and family as Yuuri, is the Fairy King, but wherever is his Queen? Much closer than you would think, Majesty. Try looking for...a fire nymph?
1. Anxiety

A/N: Weeeelll...this is an odd story. There will, most likely, be smut every other chapter once the plot is in motion, so I entreat all those who do not understand the fundamentals of...well...shameless screwing betwixt two men to leave before your poor, innocent minds are irrepairably scarred. The rest of you, journey onwards.

Fairy Queen

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_Lightsome, lithesome, beauty bright,  
She dances.  
Crowned with rays of starry light,  
She shines.  
O, Fair Folk of wood and dale, forest and stream,  
There's none so exquisite as your Queen_

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The king of all Fair Folk, or the Maou, sat, emotionless, upon his ebon-and-silver throne, staring out at the empty room in front of him impassively from the raised dais. However, this was only what _appeared_ to be. In actuality, Oberon, known affectionately as "Yuuri" to friends and family, was anything but calm and poised. If one lingered to study his facade of imperturbability longer, one would notice that his slanted eyes occaisionally darted towards the white-and-gold throne beside him; the throne where the Fairy Queen was supposed to sit. Furthermore, one would notice that every once in a while a pointed canine tooth nibbled at his lower lip in what appeared to be frustration and that his fingers tapped almost imperceptibly against his armrest. In short, the ruler of all things fey was agitated.

However, he was not to blame for this. Only a week of mortal days ago, his closest advisor and friend, the Great Sage Kenoriel, known as Ken, had fallen into a prophetic trance predicting the discovery of the Fairy Queen. The Sage had seen a dragon of Water, Oberon's sacred element, entwine with a phoenix of Fire, which he interpreted to be the element of the future queen. Having heard the news, Yuuri demanded that his advisor immediately search for his intended bride so that the prosperity of the fey nation would be secured (1), and, of course, Ken had to acquiesce.

At first, Oberon had thought that his friend would bring his Queen back in a few hours, for really, what could escape the sight of the Great Sage, seer of all seers? But as hours stretched into days, he began to grow impatient. What could be taking so long? All Kenoriel had to do was to See for the Queen and then go fetch her, which surely did not merit such a long period of time. At first, he'd reassured himself with the thought that the Sage had experienced some trouble accessing his bride. Perhaps, he'd thought, she was amongst the trolls? Or maybe with the warrior-maidens of Valhalla? They were notorious for their secrecy and would not readily let go of one of their own. However, by the time the third day had rolled around (2), Yuuri began to become suspicious. Maybe his soon-to-be fiancee was so divinely beautiful that Ken had been tempted and run away with her. After all, he _was_ known to be a massive flirt. Then, his thoughts swung the other way. What if his intended was horrifically ugly and the Sage was frantically trying to make the pain of having such a wife bearable, or even trying to figure out how to break the news to his king? The Maou admitted rather reluctantly to himself that he _was_ rather prone to killing the bearers of bad news. But by now, four days later, he was beginning to debate the positive and negative points of sending guards out to look for the Sage. Luckily, unbeknownst to our dear king, he would not have to wait long for his yet-unknown love, for it was currently alternating between annoying the life out of Kenoriel and stunning him with its ethereal beauty while riding up to Oberon's stunning estate on a milk-white steed.

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Kenoriel was internally debating the positive and negative points of either strangling his friend and lord's intended where it-currently he (3)-rode, or kissing him. Let it be known that said intended was not making either decision easier. The fiery-eyed, slender blond looked ravishing, but would not shut up, asking Ken question after question.

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Who _is _the king anyway? Is he some sort of weirdo?"

"No."

"A perv?"

"Ye-No."

"You were about to say yes, weren't you?"

"NO."

"Well, you're a perv too, so he probably is as well."

"NO!"

"Well then, do you have a good reason as to why he'd drag a poor fire nymph all the way from his perfectly charming village?"

"...no."

"That's what I thought."

"..."

"Soooooo...are we there yet?"

"ARGH!!!"

"I'll take that as a no."

Oberon need not have worried. His bride-to-be was gorgeous. In fact, when the Sage had first glimpsed him, he'd fallen victim to a disease rampant in the Queen's village; I-Think-I-Just-Saw-an-Angel-Even-Though-I'm-Immortal Syndrome. Of course, almost immediately afterwards, the alleged angel tried to flambe Ken for what he called peeping, and accused him of voyeurism. That had been why an entire week had passed between the Sage's departure and his return; every time Kenoriel attempted to bring the bride, or even talk to it-sometimes he, sometimes she-, he narrowly escaped flames. Why? The soon-to-be Queen had a temper and was not afraid to show it. The Sage wished his friend good luck with him.

He'd need it.

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Back at the palace, Oberon was already agitated enough that he decided to take a stroll around the grounds. As he was nearing the front gate, he heard voices. At first, he was worried. _Is it possible,_ he wondered vaguely,_ that I've been brooding over this for so long that I've lost my mind?_ But no, he soon recognized the distinctive tones of his friend Ken when highly exasperated. The second voice was unfamiliar, a little higher and much sweeter than that of his advisor. His heart seemed to beat faster in anticipation. _His Queen was here!_

Rushing to the gate, Yuuri called it open with magic, stopping the conversation (or argument, he really couldn't tell which) between the two. The first thing he saw was his friend on his black elvenhorse. Kenoriel looked fine and healthy, if very annoyed, and waved to his king before turning his head to yell at the figure behind him what was apparently an answer to a question it had just asked.

"NO, HE WON'T TIE YOU DOWN AND HAVE HIS WICKED WAY WITH YOU THE MOMENT YOU ARRIVE! BESIDES, EVEN IF HE WANTED TO, THE OPPORTUNITY HAS NOW PASSED!!"

A lovely blond creature was now visible, swathed in red-gold silks. The king smirked. His bride was absolutely divine, but had apparently not noticed him yet, as he was still talking at his advisor. "What do you mean the opportunity ha-why _hello_, handsome. (Here, the blond flashed a stunning smile) I hope you're the king, because there's no way _anyone_ could look better than you."

Oberon was still smirking. "You're in luck. I _am_ the king. Welcome, my bride, to my humble abode."

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(1) Of course, _we_ all know that Yuuri's just anxious to get it on with his fiancee, now don't we?

(2) He's the king of all Fair Folk. He's probably used to getting his own way, and would not appreciate a delay.

(3) In here, all nymphs are usually genderless, but can switch sexes depending on their mood.

'kay now, this is pretty short because I'm trying my best to post something at least every other day. Look for either the sequel to _Une Belle Journee_, Chapter Two of _I'd Do Anything For You_, or the oneshot _Rabe_ next. Ta.


	2. In the Castle

A/N: ...this is totally on crack. Wolfram's POV, so his/her/its? opinions and views. That is all I shall say.

**IMPORTANT NOTE!!!**: It appears that not everybody understands my writing process. I will explain. I will go through periods of writer's block then burst into productivity, where I feel obligated to post something every other day. This gives me about two hours to write it, and my little sister about one or less to edit it, because both of us have many activities, and she being a high school student has loads of homework and rehearsals. Thus, I cannot write much longer chapters than I already do, or else she might not be able to edit them in time. There have already been instances of uncaught mistakes as a result of the limited time period, so please do not ask for longer chapters, as both of us are already trying our best to obligate you. Thank you.

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Fairy Queen

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_In the woods of spring, one may find_

_The Fairy King: first among his kind,_

_Tall and stern and dark is he,_

_But lo! Behold his golden queen!_

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Wolfram was rather amused. He had not expected the creepy stalker man Kenoriel to _really_ take him to the King, but had instead thought that the pervert was taking him to some secluded area where his evil rapist companions awaited the fire nymph to ravish him and rape him senseless because of his overwhelming beauty. Note well that Wolfram has a very vivid (and not always rational) imagination. Now he was in a luxurious chamber of the first quality in an exquisite castle with a king that he would not mind getting to know closely. _Very_ closely.

He turned to the tastefully gilded mirror and examined his apparel critically. When the Great Sage had revealed himself as the suspicious figure that had been following him for the past week and demanded that he come with him to the palace immediately to meet the king and go through the ceremony that would establish him as Oberon's fiancée, Wolfram had had no time to change his clothing from the usual gauzy pantaloons and tunic in (what else) fire-orange and blood-red that he habitually wore to bed. The best he had been able to do was throw on the citrine-and-ruby gold belt hanging by his bedside (1) and put on passably elegant and sturdy shoes. Now he surveyed himself with just a touch of dissatisfaction. Oh, the colors were complimentary enough, and he knew that they brought out the brilliant green of his eyes as well as emphasized the natural highlights in his hair (2), but it just did not seem very appropriate to meet and greet the king of the entire Fey realm in...well...his sleepwear. It just was not done. However, there was not much other choice...except...maybe? Wolfram had once had the ability to fashion clothing, jewelry, and whatever else he wanted out of flame, but ever since he had found that one shop's _exquisite_ workmanship, he had not bothered to do so. No, no. It was much too risky, and it had been far too long since he had tried that configuration last, and _whatever_ would happen if it faded in the midst of his meeting with his future husband?

Hmm...

_Hmm_...

Heh.

Well, actually, now that Wolfram thought about it, his clothing fading out in front of his -very attractive- fiancé was not such a bad thing. So there went one factor. As for risk, well, as long as no one attempted to touch him (and really, they should not do that anyway), there would be no harm, and if someone _was_ fool enough to try and touch the king's intended, he could always ask the flames to cool -or flare hot- depending on who it was. So there went another factor. As for the third, nothing would be able to absolve him of it save practice, and there was no time like the present.

So, after undergoing the above lengthy discussion with himself, Wolfram walked over to the door (a little bit too ornate, but _he_ certainly was not complaining) and made sure that it was locked and bolted. After all, it would simply not do for someone to walk in on him unclothed. It would be too much for his pride to take, and he would naturally have to kill the offender. Then, shedding all clothing and jewelry so that he stood bare as the day he had appeared from the fire from which he had been born, he concentrated on shuffling through his mental wardrobe for a suitable garment.

Hmm...there really wasn't much to be done...his favorite item of clothing had been left at his cottage along with everything else and was a vibrant shade of green that would take far too much time to duplicate. Wolfram mentally shrugged. He would have to improvise, but really did not know much about proper attire for males in the presence of their -also male- fiancés. Females were much easier.

He concentrated, closing his eyes, and felt the familiar stretching of his skin and slight discomfort inside as his internal organs changed and rearranged themselves that marked a gender change. When he reopened his eyes, Wolfram was a girl. Or rather, he was a woman, not a mere girl, and had all of the delicate contours and colors of such. She smiled gratifyingly at her reflection in the mirror, then contemplated the problem of dress.

Something...airy. Bright? Hmm...no. Blue, then, that beautiful azure that was the pale shading of rain on clean marble, the blue only achieved by one of the very hottest flames, yes, and darker, then, to an unnatural purple, mid-shade. Elegant, Gods, yes, but provocative. Ruching and ruffles and lacy sleeves and hem and low-cut neckline and high waist and embroidery in white, white-hot flame-thread shining almost silver, and drops of heliodor-colored fire strung together with spinel-red on intangible threads at her neck and wrists and ankles. Wolfram pictured it all, and gently, gently, conjured up flames, coaxing and persuading them to heat and cool, and to take on colors other than their own, then shaped them, oh so delicately, spreading them on her body like an artist spreads paints and with the same amount of care and artistry and oh, when she was done, how divine she looked.

Wolfram surveyed herself again, this time approving of the exquisite image presented in the silver-decorated mirror. Without putting too fine of a point on it, she was _beautiful_. Modest, too, but credit was certainly given where and when it was due, and she _did_ deserve it now. She threw her head back and laughed, a light, lovely, flickering sound that called to mind the flames from which she had been born. Then she opened the door and strode (in a ladylike way, of course) to the throne room where Wolfram had been instructed to meet her future spouse.

She would be damned if he could keep his eyes and hands off of her now.

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Meanwhile, said spouse had already made his own preparations, being dressed now not in anything so spectacular as fire, but something quite respectable and kingly nevertheless. He now sat in the throne he had resided in but a few hours ago, and was no less anxious. For, now that the initial meeting with his bride was over and the pleasant shock of his looks had washed out, Oberon was a little worried about the rest of his intended. The brains portion, for one thing. Yuuri could absolutely not stand stupidity or dullness, and he had met far too many people whose beauty was truly skin deep-or, perhaps, even shallower, for even skin-deep loveliness had penetrate at least _some_ brain cells, did it not? and the aforementioned had no beauty below that of their faces and bodies, none at all.

He would not appreciate spending the rest of his eternal life with a shallow, vapid, bubblehead of an idiot, no matter how exquisite his or her form. Nor would he be satisfied with conversations consisting of only two-syllable words or less, save for an occaisional "Whatever" that was sure to come, if Wolfram (beautiful, lovely, fiery Wolfram) turned out to be such a revolting cretin.

But oh, when his bride walked in, and Oberon took in the pale elegance of his-now her-skin, and the dark loveliness of her dress, and how the lights in the castle (barely worthy of being called lights, they were so dim) still somehow managed to shine off of her long, golden curls, for a moment, just one short moment, he could believe that brains would not matter at all, so long as Wolfram continued to _be_ so exquisitely delicate and oh, Gods, she was perfect, and he would be damned if he could keep his eyes or hands off of her for even one more minute (not knowing that she had thought the same thing before leaving her room), so he swept to her, like a raptor, all clad in black and silver, ebon and starlight, and embraced her, with arms and lips, and Wolfram tilted her head up and stood on her toes to kiss him, and indeed, seemed to try to wrap herself around him like a snake, a sinuously beautiful snake, maybe even the one that had tempted Eve and been the downfall of Mankind.

They continued to kiss.

Wolfram felt her soul soaring, soaring with the ecstasy.

Oberon thought that he must be drunk, drunk on the sight, the taste, the smell, the _feel_ of Wolfram.

And there they stayed for a long, long while.

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(1) At the end, Kenoriel had become so frustrated that he had finally tried to kidnap Wolfram from his house while he was asleep. This did not end very well for the Great Sage, and would have gone worse if the fire nymph had not been still slightly groggy and thus have missed flambé-ing the elf by a very, very, _very_ thin margin. Like, a couple of oxygen molecules' worth. After all, even groggy, barely-awake, and unaware of what exactly the danger was, Wolfram had extremely accurate aim.

(2) He made sure that each and every article of clothing he owned would make him look beautiful when he wore it. Even his sleepwear.

A/N: I'm sorry it's so short, but if you want to know why, read the IMPORTANT NOTICE.

E/N: I'm sorry it took so long to edit, but I had orchestra arrangements for the past three days.


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